


Day of the Dead

by zeldadestry



Category: Firefly
Genre: Community: 100_women
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-21
Updated: 2006-03-21
Packaged: 2017-10-10 02:37:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/94505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeldadestry/pseuds/zeldadestry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After much work, your face is clean and the sweat in your eyes is as tears.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day of the Dead

**Author's Note:**

> prompt 019, 'lies', for 100_women fanfic challenge  
> Bi zui = shut up, from Firefly-Serenity Chinese Pinyinary

At first when the sweat runs in your eyes it stings, mixing with the finely ground debris, the dust and dirt that covers your skin. After much work, your face is clean, and the sweat in your eyes is as tears.

Zoe don't cry, of course she don't cry, but sometimes when she's working, when the first drops of sweat leave a trail over her cheek, just like a tear would, she wonders if there's really any difference. She sweats, she cries, it's all the same gorram thing.

When she and Jayne have finished unloading the cargo, Jayne wrings out his bandanna and puts it in his pocket. He fits his cap back on his head and catches sight of Zoe's grimace. "What I done now, woman?"

"Those who didn't fight in the war shouldn't wear a soldier's clothes. How'd you get it anyway? Steal it off someone you killed?"

"Would ya feel better if I told you he started it?"

"Not really."

"Well, he did. Come on, girl. Ain't like you to dally when the work ain't finished." They're standing at the bottom of the massive hole they dug to hide the cargo. Jayne laces his fingers together so that Zoe can step into his hands and use them as leverage to get out. Once she's up, she lies on the edge of the pit, stretches her arm down to him so he has something to hold on to while his feet find purchase. In moments he's out of the pit, up on his feet and holding out his hand to help her stand. She doesn't take it, gets up her own damn self, attempts to brush some of the red dust from her clothes and gives it up just as quickly. Without speaking to each other, they grab their shovels and pour dirt back on top of the cargo until it's buried beneath. When they finish, she has to take a step back, has to catch her breath while Jayne smoothes the dirt over the pit so that everything looks usual. No one will happen along and dig it up until their client does. His cargo is underground, fifty feet west of a solitary tombstone, just like he requested. She knows Jayne is watching her, but she still can't seem to stand up straight or breathe deep. He stalks over to her and his touch on the small of her back is hesitant, barely there at all. "You ok?"

"It's hot."

"Hotter than hell, I know. Come on. We got to get to town and meet Mal. We'll get you somethin' to drink."

Mal's not at the rendezvous point, which is on a street corner downtown. The townspeople are celebrating a festival commemorating the hanging of a one-eyed bandit who had terrorized them years ago. Children run around in packs, faces smeared sticky with candy and rope nooses loose around their throats like morbid necklaces. Morbid. She's being morbid. Diggin' a hole ain't diggin' a grave, Zoe.

Jayne's walking back her way, carrying two tall bottles. "Those better be cold," she calls out.

"Had 'em on ice." He holds one out to her.

Zoe doesn't know what it is, doesn't care, she's so gorram thirsty. She drinks nearly the whole bottle before her thirst begins to slake. Once it does, there's only a little bit left to really taste. It's lemonade, tart and sweet and cold on her tongue. She can't imagine anything tasting better than this, right now, these last few sips on this hot, dirty day. She's sorry when she finishes. Jayne takes the bottle from her hand, puts another one in it. She looks at him without understanding.

"Go on, girl. Drink it."

"Don't you want some?"

"I'll take what you don't finish."

She takes a sip, then another. Out in the street, a group of girls has joined hands, dancing in a circle. In the center of the circle stands a blond boy. Each time the girls stop their spinning and clap, he falls down like he's been shot. The girls pretend to kick at his body. She hands the bottle back to Jayne. His head falls back as he drinks and she watches his throat move as he swallows. When he finishes, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, throws the glass into a ditch with the other trash. So many of the children are barefoot. She wonders if they ever cut their feet on shards. "Jayne?"

"Zoe," he mumbles, lighting the cigar held between his teeth.

"Shepard Book ever talk to you about what happens to a man after he dies?"

He shakes out the match until the flame extinguishes, drops it at his feet. Zoe waves her hands in front of her face as his cloud of smoke carries her way. He notices and turns his head so that he can exhale in the opposite direction, like she'd hoped. She don't mind the smoke so much, but she don't want him lookin' at her. "He painted a pretty picture."

"I thought you believed?"

"I do. But that place ain't for me. Anyway, Shepherd said Shepherds can't even decide on what it'd be like. They all think it's there, but ain't a one of em knows for sure. Some think when you go on you find all the people you knew when you was alive. And some think when you go on it ain't nobody but you and god."

"What do you think?"

"I told you. I ain't liable to go there, so I ain't gonna worry about what it's like."

Zoe smiles. "They won't let you live there, that's true, but maybe they'll give you a weekend pass, like a soldier on furlough."

Jayne smirks. "Or a prisoner on parole. But you only get parole for bein' on yer best behavior, and girl, you know I ain't likely to do that."

"No, you ain't." The pageant has begun and the townspeople are prepping the gallows, just like they was really going to hang somebody. "I've seen a lot of men die, Jayne."

"Oh, hell, so have I."

"I've seen more. Dead is dead. Anyone tell you otherwise, they're just pretending. They're just trying to make you happy so you'll be generous when they pass the collection plate."

They're quiet for a spell, but she knows what he's going to say when he speaks again. She's waiting for it. Voice hushed when he says, "You'll see him again, Zoe, I know it."

"Bi zui." She's not being mean, she just don't want to talk about this no more. She got what she wanted. She wanted to hear him say it. It matters, somehow, even if she knows better, knows it's all hogwash. Jayne's not offended, he understands. He smokes the rest of his cigar in silence. When Mal arrives on the mule, he throws the stub, embers still glowing, into the ditch.


End file.
